


Muddy Paws

by NutmegNuisance



Series: Fëanorian week 2021 [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Fëanorian Week 2021, Good Parent Fëanor, he gets more tired everyday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 22:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30112884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NutmegNuisance/pseuds/NutmegNuisance
Summary: One rainy morning Celegorm wakes his father up, drenched in water and distraught. Huan could not be found.Day Three of Fëanorian week, Celegorm- Childhood“I can’t find Huan.” the voice was filled with desperation. “ he’s not in the house, so I went to look outside, but it started raining.” Fëanáro couldn’t tell if he was crying, for the silver hair was still dripping water onto the child’s face.
Relationships: Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Fëanor | Curufinwë, Celegorm | Turcafinwë & Huan, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Sons of Fëanor, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel
Series: Fëanorian week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211249
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Muddy Paws

**Author's Note:**

> Day Three of Fëanorian week, Celegorm- Childhood
> 
> Celegorm is around 9 years old here ( by like elven standings I don't want to do the math right now)

It was not the birds nor the singing of Kanafinwë but a sharp jab on the side of his cheek that woke him up. 

“Atto.” the voice that was usually so strong was panicked. “Atto, get up.”

Focusing his eyes on his youngest, he saw the short, silver-haired boy fidgeting nervously. His hands ran along the hem of his tunic, picking at the fraying threads. The boy was a mess, mud was plastered in his hair, and he was drenched, water pooling around his feet. 

This would have been a typical sight, for the young boy relished in the wilderness. And was often out playing by the pond under the watchful eye of his mother or older brothers. Kanafinwë often played his harp outside and could shout the loudest should anything go amiss. 

The trembled panicked voice was what stuck Fëanáro as odd, wrong. Turcafinwë got upset. He would yell if angered ( a trait picked up from Fëanáro much to his wife’s displeasure), but he would never cry. 

“what’s wrong? Why are you wet.” looking out the window confirmed his suspicions. It was raining, which meant his son had been outside. Turning his glare towards the child, he quelled the panic that had taken hold in his chest and spoke evenly. “And why were you outside?. You know it’s not safe for elflings to be by themselves.” This, of course, was untrue for it was very safe and no harm would come to an elfing except maybe getting lost. But as a father, he always feared the worst. 

“I can’t find Huan.” the voice was filled with desperation. “ he’s not in the house, so I went to look outside, but it started raining.” Fëanáro couldn’t tell if he was crying, for the silver hair was still dripping water onto the child’s face. 

Getting up, he pulled on a thick robe and told his son to get changed into warmer clothes. Fëanáro did not want to go outside in the rain, but that stupid dog meant everything to his son. It had been a gift from Oromë, who Fëanáro was disturbed to find out had been hanging around his son. Apparently, Turcafinwë had talent in Oromë’s field. This, of course, sent pride through the father, but he forbade his son from leaving the sight of the house. He was far too young and too reckless to be left alone. 

Grabbing a Fëanorian lamp and two cloaks, he pulled one over himself and knelt to put the other around his son. Fasting the broach that held it together, he stood up and held his hound out. Feeling the small fingers wrap around his hand, he gave them a quick squeeze and stepped out into the rain. 

“ When was the last time you saw him?”

Stepping closer to the protection of his father, he answered. “ Last night. He was at the foot of my bed.” That didn’t give them much to go off on.   
“ well, he seems attached to you, so I don’t think he would go far.” he saw the tears rolling down his son’s cheeks but didn’t say anything. It would only hurt his son’s pride. Nerdanel was the one the children went for comfort, not him. “ I’m sure we will find him.”

Pulling the hood over his head, he strained his eyes, looking out towards the woods, but to his annoyance, he couldn’t see any sign of the dog. Handing the lamp for Turcafinwë to hold, he reluctantly got on his knees and looked for signs of a small dog, like paw prints. The ground had become soft, and water quickly seeped through his breeches. 

Fëanáro was in no way a tracker. Nor did he really go outside just for the fun of it. His calling was the forge, and he rarely divulged in other crafts. His average tracking skills and the rain had probably erased all obvious evidence of the whereabouts of a lost furry friend. 

Nelyafinwë sometimes said Turcafinwë would crawl into his bed at night and tell his oldest brother all about his day and often tell stories of finding a fox den or how he pet a fawn and found a bird nest. His son had a gift in the ways of nature. And from the information, he gathered from others could track fairly well. 

Standing up, he took back the Fëanorian lamp and turned to his son. “I’m afraid I can’t find any sign of him. We will look close to the house and around the pond, but if we don’t find him, we will go back inside.” ignoring the guilt he felt when his son’s face turned downcast, he continued. “ Huan will be okay. He’s from Oromë; a little rain won’t harm him.” 

A determined look overcame the child’s features, and without a word, he marched towards the pond looking at the ground. Either he was trying not to show his tears, or he was tracking. Probably both, he assumed. 

The bottom of his boots had begun to grow damp with water. Holding in the anger and frustration that was growing, he took a calming breath. It was not Turcafinwë’s fault he didn’t change his shoes. 

“This way.” Grabbing his father’s hand, he tugged him off towards the pond. Pointing at a plant ( Fëanáro did not know the name), he explained to his father. “ the leaves are bitten off. Haun really likes these.” 

Taking a closer look at the plant, he saw the leaf’s jagged look that his son talked about. Impressed, he followed his son’s determined walk. 

Huan spotted the elves before they did, and a small grey puppy slammed into the chest of his owner, and they both landed on the muddy ground, Huan on top licking Turcafinwë’s face. 

Fëanáro would have been mad, for the fall sent muddy water all over his cloak, but the pure happiness and giggles coming from his son sent warmth through his hröa, getting rid of the uncomfortable feeling that the rain had brought.   
“Let’s get inside you two.” preparing himself for the outburst that was inevitable, he drew a long breath. “ and both of you need to take a bath.” grabbing his son’s arm so he couldn’t run away, he walked off towards the house. 

“ The rain has already washed off the mud.”

“ We both know that’s not how this works. Your mother would be furious at me if I let you go through the day like this.” seeing his son’s pouting face, he continued. “ if you take a bath, I’ll make you breakfast. We’ll wash Huan together.” 

Nodding and looking up at his father, he spoke quietly. “ Thank you for helping me.”

He smiled down at his son, “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is out so much later than normal!. my roommate's cat decided to run away (we found the cat so its all good)


End file.
